Weeping Willow (A Hunger Games Fanfiction)
by epicrawxr
Summary: The rebellion never happened. Katniss and Peeta died during the 75th Hunger Games, killed by Brutus and Enobaria, the tributes from District Two. As the horrible game continues, families are left doubled over in sorrow while the sick, twisted people of the Capitol relish in the deaths of their children. The time has come for the 79th Hunger Games and this year will be no different
1. Chapter 1

"War, terrible war," says a deep voice on the television. A commercial sponsoring the Hunger Games is playing; I can hear it from the kitchen. The horrible time is here yet again. A time of tears. A time of bloodshed. A time of loss. To the Capitol, however, it is a time of excitement. Pitting young adults together to fight to the death for their own sick pleasure. A "punishment" they call it. A punishment for what? A war that waged almost a century ago? No. It's so she can feel superior. Our awful leader, President Estell Borden, loves to walk all over the Districts like we're nothing but dirty vermin under her feet. That's hilarious, because the Capitol would be nothing without the Districts.

We supply a great deal of their food, power, building materials, everything. What do we get in return? Our lives taken, our families destroyed, and, worst of all, we have to do it with our bare hands.

"Will, you alright?" my best friend, Ceedar, asks me. I blink and turn away from the kitchen window, remembering that I was supposed to be getting us drinks. I have a habit of getting lost in my thoughts, especially on the topic of the Hunger Games. I set the glasses down that I am holding, and I open the refrigerator. After we get our drinks, we walk back into the living room and sit down on the old yellow couch in front of the television. It's a small, rugged thing, but it's good enough.

A showing of last year's Hunger Games is on. When is it not? It's showing the final moments of the game. A dark haired girl, Contessa Brockfield, is smashing a brick into a boy's face and claiming her victory. It was a brutal end to the Games, and her life was changed forever. She has been glamorized all year, being showered with money, food, and anything else she wanted, as all Victors are. Of course it helped her that she was from District One, the wealthiest of all twelve districts.

The most recent Victor from District Seven, my home, is Johanna Mason. She won the 71st Hunger Games, in a very clever way, I might add. She pretended that she was weak and afraid until there were very few tributes left, then she slaughtered them. She also won the 75th Hunger Games, the 3rd Quarter Quell. Johanna is pretty amazing. The Quarter Quell consisted of Victors from previous Hunger Games being chosen to participate once again. Once you win the Hunger Games you are supposed to be immune from playing ever again, but that wasn't the case that year. The "star-crossed lovers", Katniss and Peeta, died that year, which was a tragedy. They were so close to sparking another rebellion which could have ended the Games forever.

I was thirteen at the time. The whole country was on edge, banning all signs of the "The Mockingjay", peacekeepers flooding the streets beating and arresting people. District Eight got the worst of it because there were rumors saying that it was the "headquarters" for the rebellion. Twelve also got heavy surveillance since Katniss and Peeta were from there. It all started because they were in love. The couple refused to kill each other at the end of the 74th Hunger Games, so, by threatening to kill themselves, leaving no Victor, they were both crowned winners. President Snow, our leader at the time, took this as a sign of rebellion. He thought that Katniss and Peeta were trying to make a joke out of him. There are many debates , even today, that argue whether that was the case or if they were truly in love.

"Come on, man. Let's not watch this," Ceedar says, waving a hand at the television. I nod and stand up, walking over to it. I twist the dial, flipping through the channels, and stop when I see a show that we both like. All of our channels are broadcast from the Capitol and District Three, the technology district.

Ceedar and I have been best friends since birth. Our mothers grew up together, got married at the same age, and even got pregnant at around the same time. I am only a few months older than he is. Bonney, Ceedars mother, is visiting my mother all the time. They talk about work, food, us, pretty much anything. Anything but the Games.

The show is abruptly interrupted by an announcement coming from the Capitol. The emblem bearing an eagle and pointed arrows appears on the screen for a few seconds before fading to an office-looking set. A very pale woman is sitting at a glass desk holding piece of paper. She has teal colored hair and is wearing very sparkly eye makeup.

"Hello Panem!" she cheers, almost blinding the audience with her porcelain white smile. "It is the most exciting time of year once again, folks!" Ceedar and I look at each other and roll our eyes. "The 79th Hunger Games is approaching fast and preparations will start being made very soon. You youngsters must be very excited!" I can almost hear the groan of every teenager in the district. The woman's name is Lucia Novalee. She is the spokesperson for the Hunger Games. She holds the interviews with the tributes, shares gossip, and tracks the progress throughout the Games season. The rest of the year she runs the channel that replays edited versions of past Hunger Games and holds interviews with Victors.

"Man, why do they all look so crazy?" Ceedar asks. I just shrug. The Capitol tends to have some strange fashion trends. One year everyone was painting themselves and dressing up like animals. Bears, wolves, birds, deer. It was very peculiar.

"The reapings will begin in one month, on the first of June," Lucia says. "District One's will be held at nine o'clock in the morning. District Two's at ten, District Three's at eleven," as she speaks, I hear the front door open and close. Heavy footsteps and a slight cough tell me that it's my father. He walks into the living room, sits down next to me, and lets out a sigh.

"What's up, dad?" I say, looking over at his tired face stubbly chin.

"Ah, nothing Will. It's pretty hot outside, better wear something thin for your shift," he says. I nod in agreement and look at the television. Each district has a specialty, something that they provide for the Capitol. District Seven collects the lumber form the thick forest that surrounds us and ships it off. We also make common items such as paper, pencils, and furniture.

After school every day, everyone over the age of sixteen goes to the forest to work. There are other jobs as well, such as factory workers and school teachers, but those jobs take a long time to acquire, so most people just stay in the forest. Like my father, for instance. He loves being in the woods. That's all he's ever done, and he has no intentions of quitting. My mother, on the other hand, works in a factory that produces paper. To get there, my she and my father had to pay for classes that taught her everything she needed to know the be able to do the job. Paying for the classes can be difficult, but my mother did very well in school, so the district helped her pay for them. It's one of the very few good things the government does for us.

"How are you today, Ceedar?" my father asks.

"I'm doing fine, Mr. Redwood. I was wondering if I could spend the night?" My father nods.

"Of course, anytime," he says, just as he always does. He looks at the television, which is now playing more clips from last year's Games, and sighs. He stands up and starts walking towards the stairs, his eyes drooping to the floor.

"Man, I hate seeing your dad like this every year," Ceedar says in a soft voice.

"Yeah, me too. But can you blame him after what happened?" I ask, getting up to click off the television. When my father was a little younger than me, his brother was taken by the Games. He died in a horrific way; an explosion. Another tribute had found a land mine, figured out how to activate it, and buried it. It just so happen to be my father's brother that found it. It was awful for him and the rest of his family. The two boys were best friends, spending all of their time together. This, of course, all came from my grandmother, who passed away a few years ago. My father isn't exactly an emotional person, but around this time of year he completely shuts down, locking himself away from his family and the rest of the world. He goes to work, only because he's forced to, and then comes home, only to lock himself in his bedroom. My mother gets kind of irritated sometimes, but she understands and lets him mourn. There are people like my father all over the district, all over Panem. Heartbroken and mournful of their lost family members.

I look at the dusty clock hanging on the wall and see that it is a quarter till four.

"Come on, Ceedar. We need to get going," I say, getting up and walking over to the stairs, heading to my room to change.


	2. Chapter 2

The air outside is dry and filled with the scent of sawdust and broken leaves. It's a great day. Young children play on their lawns and the sidewalks are filled with people heading to their sector of the forest. It's a shame that the happiness of today will, in about a month, be ruined. On the way to the forest Ceedar and I talk about pointless things, careful no to mention the Games.

"Trinity Collins said that she just loves your 'sea foam' gray eyes," Ceedar says, chuckling. I laugh and shake my head, my cheeks turning a faint pink color.

"What ever man."

Sweat drips down my forehead as I, along with fiver other teenagers, haul a tree trunk to a loading truck. Once the trunk is loaded I pull off my gloves and wipe away the moisture.

"It's a hot one today, isn't it Will?" one of the boys ask. I nod and take a gulp of water from the plastic canteen attached to my hip. "Man, I'm kind of excited about the Games," he says. We all look at him as if he had called our mothers a filthy dog. "What?" he asks, looking around at us. "I get to see Johanna. I'm going to marry her one day." Everyone laughs.

"Well maybe you should volunteer! Save one of us the trouble," another boy says. This makes the boy's smile fade and his eyes look away from us. "Oh, come on man. I was joking."

The following month goes by in a blur, my dread getting worse by the day. My father comes out less and less and the entire district gets quieter and quieter. The first of June appears out of nowhere, casting a shadow of gloom over us all, quite literally. The sky is cloudy and looks as though it might rain. It seems as though the Gods are already weeping for us.

"Willow!" I hear my mother yell from downstairs. "It's almost two-thirty, we need to get going."

"Okay, mom!" I yell back, swallowing all of the nervous shaking in my voice. I stand staring into the mirror attached to my wall. My jet black hair is combed into a sort of side-swept fashion, its natural messiness threatening to poke out any moment. I have to wear one of my father's blue dress shirts, thanks to a major growth spurt I've recently endured. My normally light gray eyes have faded to a darker color.

I meet my mother and father downstairs in the hallway, sad and sullen looks on their faces.

"Ready?" my mother asks. I give a slight nod and lead us out of the house, my father not speaking as usual. On the way to the Justice Building the streets are filled with teenagers and their parents. The only noises, however, are their shoes meeting the pavement and the wind blowing through the trees. I find Ceedar and we walk together, our normally talkative mothers not saying a word.

The faint tune of the national anthem begins to echo through the marketplace and red banners sporting the Capitol emblem begin appearing on streetlamps and on the sides of buildings. Peacekeepers, officials who make sure the laws are obeyed, line the sidewalks in their all black uniforms, holding large guns against their chests. Security has gotten a lot tighter since President Borden was elected into power.

"Finger," a deep voiced Peacekeeper demands, holding out a gloved hand. I hold out my index finger and, using a small needle, he pricks the tip of it. He squeezes my finger a bit until a droplet of blood appears. He then presses my finger onto a page in an enormous log book he has sitting on the table in front of him and scans the blood stain with some sort of handheld device. I hear a faint electronic voice saying, "Name: Willow Redwood. Age: Seventeen. No tesserae records found."

"Next," he says, waving me ahead. I walk passed him into a roped off section of the courtyard, waiting on Ceedar to pass through. Our parents have disappeared into the crowd with the rest of the anxious parents. The marketplace is set up so that the teenagers are arranged in the Justice Building courtyard, grouped by age, while parents and other spectators gather around the edge of the courtyard and in the streets.

There is one enormous television monitor set up just above the entrance to the Justice Building, and it is showing us all file in. There are words scrolling across the bottom of the screen, but they are too small for me to see from this distance.

Another strong breeze blows through the courtyard, whipping the girl's dresses every which way. A storm is definitely coming soon. About five minuets of silence goes by before the monitor fades to black and the anthem begins playing. Ceedar nudges me and rolls his eyes. I give him a small shake of the head in return. The commercial sponsoring the Hunger Games that floods the television at home begins playing. Compilations of tribute interviews, parades, and fighting show in the screen. The Capitol likes to glamorize the Games, likes to make it into a holiday when it is nothing more than mass slaughter.

When the commercial ends, the screen fades to the Capitol emblem and the doors to the Justice Building open. Out walk three people: Mayor Varen Clarke, his secretary, and Thalassa Jupiter, District Seven's tribute escort. She will be accompanying the tributes up until they enter the arena. They take their places on the stage that has been built for this event, Thalassa right in the center in front of the microphone, and the mayor and his secretary on either side of her.

"Good afternoon, District Seven!" she cheers, using a high, bubbly voice, and, of course, that strange accent that only they have. After getting no response she says, "Come on, District Seven, get excited! This is an amazing time of year!" They mayor lets out a fake cough to, I assume, cover up a scoff. Thalassa rolls her eyes and clears her throat. "Alrighty then. I suppose we'll just move on," she says as spidery looking cameras swirl around her and the entire courtyard. Her face has been blown up on the monitor as she has been speaking. She has very short hair that sticks out in all directions. It is a rusty orange color with patches and streaks of red throughout. I am shocked to see that her eyes are roughly the same colors. That can not be natural. She is wearing black eye makeup and orange lipstick, which contrast heavily with her porcelain skin.

"Mister Clarke, the envelope please," she says holding out a pale hand to him. He pulls out a small envelope from a pocket inside his jacket and hands it to Thalassa. I remember a few years ago they used to pull names from glass bowls but, due to the security escalations, I suppose, the names have began being randomly selected from a computer and given to district officials.

Thalassa opens the envelope and clears her throat once again. Time seems to freeze at that moment.

"The male tribute to represent District Seven is," I close my eyes and wish my best to whoever is chosen. "Willow Redwood!" My eyes flick open and my mouth drops a little. Did she say my name? No, she couldn't have. Everyone's eyes on me confirms my fear. She has, in fact, said my name.

"Come on up, dear," she says, looking over the crows and following everyone's gaze. I look beside me and Ceedar, just like the others, is staring at me wide eyed.

"Will, I-"

"No, don't," I interrupt. I already know what he was going to say. I look in his eyes and nod, trying not to show how horrified I am. He nods in response and gulps. I turn to the other side and see that a path has been opened up for me to walk right up to the stage. This can not be happening.


End file.
